The Devil in Disguise or Fool Me Once
by NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands
Summary: This is an AU story filled with introspection that popped into my head. It's a little melancholy to begin with (and maybe ongoing) – don't say I didn't warn you xx So my story is evolving into something a little softer and warmer. Red/Liz xx
1. Chapter 1

This is an AU story filled with introspection that popped into my head. It's a little melancholy to begin with (and maybe ongoing) – don't say I didn't warn you xx I guess I wonder if Lizzie would feel alone and maybe a little abandoned if Red leaves for longer than we imagine. What if it's all too much change and she digs her heels in?

I've written a couple of other fanfics under a different username but wanted this to stand alone for now xx

She woke chilled and alone. Somehow the early morning always caught her unaware. With the harsh light of dawn come the memories of her life, her broken marriage and her shattered dreams.

She lays still, the peace of the night dissolving in the light of the day. At first it's always gradual but then the levee breaks and her sorrow rushes in.

He left 10 months ago. Her husband 8. She wonders where the time went, knowing she's coasted these months. But as the pain reaches its bitter crescendo and tears escape the corners of her eyes, she welcomes the numbness that replaces it. She knows it's wrong but it's better to feel nothing than to feel everything. It's the numbness that makes the days liveable, it's the lack of feeling that lets her work, move and exist. It may only be a shadow of a life but it's all she's got and it's all she's capable of.

Slowly she rises from her bed, making her way into the day. She puts on a good show. There's maybe only one person alive who could see past her false visage, but that person is missing from her life. She has a personal and professional need to find him and yet he evades her. He is purposely leaving her alone. She knows in her head why he's doing this but her hollow heart can't understand. The longer he stays away the more adrift she feels.

She hasn't told anyone how she feels but if she had to put it into words she'd say that she was now living a life without music. Once there was richness and beauty and now there is only emptiness and desolation. The worst of it for her is that she didn't appreciate, didn't know, what she had. The last time they spoke she was so busy looking for answers she neglected to thank him, forgot to express any warmth, any emotion besides confusion and bewilderment at her past and their dangerous present.

So she goes back to the Post Office and continues the futile task of searching for Raymond Reddington. 10 months of looking, 10 months of false leads and crushing disappointment. 10 months of waiting, wanting him to come back into her life.

Weekly she subjected to the mental and emotion prodding of an FBI psychiatrist. She isn't alone, the whole team (what's left of it anyway) were subjected to this following the turbulent events 10 months ago. Within weeks she and Ressler were the only ones still being seen. Now, months later, she alone continues. She knows it's because she hasn't opened up, hasn't made progress but it's just another humiliation, another isolation.

"Agent Keen" Dr Jacobs says, greeting her warmly. She's got to hand it to him, he never lets his frustration show, even in the face of her blatant hostility. Over the months she's become less hostile but no more forthcoming. Sometimes she thinks it's because there's nothing to tell and sometimes it's because she doesn't know where to begin.

"Elizabeth, let's pick up where we left off last week, shall we? You were telling me about your relationship with Raymond Reddington" The doctor begins.

Elizabeth would laugh out loud if that weren't something she'd forgotten how to do. She can't help the look of incredulity that touches her eyes, her lips. She's never answered anything more than basic questions about Red and he's alluding to more. She doesn't respond. She briefly wonders how long she can keep this up before she's suspended or dismissed from the bureau altogether. She knows it's probably inevitable.

She's changed over the months, Red leaving was the catalyst and the truth about Tom was the nail in the coffin. She was fooled into believing he loved her; she married him, shared a bed, shared every intimacy, shared her nightmares and dreams of a family. It mocks her now, the past. Red knew all this, knew about Tom and their sham of a marriage. He knew she'd been played and he knew why, and she remains in the dark about much of her own life even now that its fallen apart.

Dr Jacobs speaks again, dragging her painfully into the moment, "perhaps you'd like to tell me something about Reddington that I don't know. How he got to know so much about you. What caused you to open up to him Elizabeth?"

Her head is full of thoughts of Tom and her cheeks burn with the shame. She's flustered by the question about Red and the supposed intimacy implied there. It's this that causes her to snap and finally give an answer about more than the superficial, "I didn't open up to him, Red has a persistent inquisitiveness that wears a person down".

To his credit the doctor doesn't so much as blink in surprise when he finally gets an answer from his most reluctant patient.

"How so Elizabeth?" He tries to encourage but knows the less he says the better.

Elizabeth looks out of the window. She watches the world and the distant sky passing by for sometime before she speaks, "he gives me space." She begins then pauses, "not always physical ... but when we're talking he allows a silence that he means for me to fill. At first I wasn't sure what it all meant but I learned what to do over time". She stops again, her trance like stare into the distant continuing. "He listens, and when it's necessary he listens to the silence and hears the story there too."

She stops then, numb and lost. She thinks Toms leaving was a betrayal but Red's was like a death. One she hasn't grieved for and for which she can find no cause. Maybe that's why his departure hit her harder. She's says little of significance the rest of the session. She wonders if she ever will again.

As she leaves, the doctor says he'll see her again the next week. She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes and his frown continues long after she's shut the door and returned to her duties.

Dr Jacobs updates his records on Elizabeth Keen. He wonders just how well she's coping with her life. There are so many questions he has for her but she seems to have so few answers. He wonders why she didn't change her name after her husband's departure and the subsequent uncontested dissolution of their marriage. He wonders why she continues to work at the Post Office given that her education and FBI training mean she'd be more suited, more comfortable perhaps, elsewhere. Most of all he wonders if she'll ever realise or acknowledge the feelings she had obviously developed, and now so readily suppresses, for Raymond Reddington.

Back at the Post Office Elizabeth works steadily alongside Meera Malik and Donald Ressler following up countless leads. In spite of any reluctance on her part, and despite all lack of effort from her and Donald the three of them have grown closer, bonding over the mystery of Reds disappearance and their joint determination to track him down.

Frequently the other two leave to track down a lead or on a Reddington related mission, unfortunately she hadn't yet been cleared for such active duty. She still hadn't grown accustomed to the frustrating hopelessness that sets in during their absence. She works longer and harder during such times, trying to justify her place in the team.

No matter how deep they dig they never seem to get any closer. When the long work day ends they frequently make their way to some bar or to Meera's apartment, continuing their conversations about leads or potential Blacklisters that might be withholding information. Elizabeth thinks Donald could be the key, since he's hunted Red for years. But he's convinced she has the answers, since it was her Reddington summoned when he surrendered to the FBI. Each night ends with the same frantic silence.

Life continues much as it has for the last 10, now almost 11 months. Elizabeth works long hours and makes her compulsory weekly trips to Dr Jacobs. She not as closed off to him as she was, the little she let slip proved cathartic, yet still she's reluctant to divulge the depth of her feeling. Mostly she's aware that she trusted a man, her husband, a wolf in sheep's clothing and she doesn't want to have to explain how she could also have trusted another man, so dangerous that he doesn't bother with a disguise. Nor can she explain why the absence of such a man has caused her this all consuming misery.

If he were ever to return, what then? She can't trust him. '_Criminals are notorious liars'_, she hears him say, the sound of his voice in her head acting like a jolt of electricity. No, she can't trust him. She's already been taken in by someone she cared about. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me._ She's searching for a man who doesn't want to be found. A man who, if she finds him, she doesn't want. The irony of the situation is not lost on her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Thank you for all the comments and follows/favs of my story. I am glad you liked it up till now. I want to set the scene a little more before Reds return. It won't be long though. Xxx

Chapter 2 The next day in the Post Office more leads prove to be false Reddington trails. Since his name became the only one of The Blacklist they've tried to build an even clearer picture of him than the one Ressler had helped to build before Red's surrender. There are still so many holes and he could be hiding or have fallen into any one of them.

Later the same day they receive unconfirmed reports of his death. It isn't the first time in the 10 months that this has happened and just like in the previous occasions it has a physical and psychological effect on Elizabeth. Immediately her heart rate increases, and adrenaline seems to fuel her movements, her very thoughts. She pushes herself to extremes to corroborate or contradict all of these reports, all the while attempting to hide this desperation from her colleagues. There is an agonising torture in not knowing the truth, one which her weary spirit is incapable of bearing. As a team they reach out to Dembe as they usually do but he's become harder and harder to reach.

The source of the report is in DC and no more or less credible than the last, so Cooper calls the team together. He wants them to apprehend the source, bring him in for questioning and see if he can provide evidence to support his claim.

Meera and Ressler leave for the armoury and while she makes her way back to her office, the familiar hopelessness begins to take route in Elizabeth. Then unnoticed by her Cooper emerges from the room she just vacated. "Keen, you're back on active duty. Get suited up with Malik and Ressler." She sees something in his eyes, maybe doubt, maybe hesitation but she tries to push that aside, "Yes Sir" she responds. She turns and has to stop herself from sprinting to catch the others.

Their target is located in an apartment in a run down neighbourhood south of the capital. Intel says he's alone but since the area has been so active they've found ongoing surveillance difficult. The plan was to go in at night, hard and fast, with their team leading the assault.

Despite her training and the on the job experience she'd amassed, Elizabeth knows leading an assault of this nature will be a challenge. But she wants to be involved in future field work so she decides she needs to prove herself here. She briefly wonders if her uncertainty and desperation will prove to be dangerous bedfellows but what does she have to lose?

All seems well early on, as well as any heavily armed FBI assault on a little know target can go. She feels confident in their man power. Her team are taking the stairs and only 4 flights below when they hear gunfire. The building lights go down, she knows this is their doing but it couldn't have come at a worse time. They signal to each other and as a group continue to silently climb towards apartment 812. They move onto the landing on level 5 and check the hallway for anything suspicious.

As a unit they begin to proceed when they hear more gun fire and a series of earth shattering screams from above. Instinct takes over and Elizabeth begins to bound up the stairs two at a time. She barely pauses on each landing to ensure it's clear. The rest of the team begin to chase her but caution and the residual effects from Ressler's injury all those months ago hold them back.

She makes the 8th floor in no time, her heart pounding in her ears, adrenaline increasing her every sense. Using her training she moves into the hallway fluidly, sweeping for any potential threat.

Down the corridor, exiting what is surely apartment 812 she sees a dark figure. She observes from the shadows, trying to see if the figure is armed. She hears the rest of the team reach the landing. Ressler emerges first and she silences him with a signal. They take defensive positions before radioing the other teams with an update.

Cooper, who is coordinating, says they've to wait for the other teams to reach their local then move in on whomever is inside. Elizabeth doesn't want to follow the order but knows better than to break rank.

Finally with everyone in position they begin to move. No sooner are they out of the shadows than the lone figure in the hallway spots them and opens fire. Elizabeth immediately returns fire and the target goes down. At the door of 812 they signal to see who'll take point, who'll lead them in to God knows what.

Elizabeth is incensed when Ressler indicates she'll be at the back. But before she had time to argue they are moving in.

Inside the apartment is darker than the hallway; it smells stale with the smell of recent gunfire hanging heavily in the air. Ahead of her shots are fired and returned, one agent goes down and Elizabeth uses this as an opportunity to move towards the front.

To her left a corridor opens up. She sees movement in a door way and breaks off from the group, following whomever is moving to hide deeper in the apartment.

The door to the room isn't all the way closed, but still Elizabeth pushes it a little wider before entering. The room is black and though she can't see anything her senses tell her someone else is in the room. She hopes to keep her back to the wall and continue to move into the room, but the room is deceptively big and the person she's followed has already moved into the space and is making his way behind her.

She senses the movement knowing she's in trouble, attempting to move silently so she's not at an even greater disadvantage. Then in her ear piece Ressler demands her position, the sound may be muffled but it's enough to confirm her location and she's heavily tackled from behind.

She lands painfully, hitting her head off some unknown object on her way down. She's dazed but knows she has to fight. Her gun is knocked from her hand and slides into the darkness. She tries to push but her assailant is too big, too strong. She tries punching but he's so close there is no real weight behind it.

She's aware of more gunfire in the apartment and worries that they're losing despite their number. Panic begins to claw its way up her throat and she tries to push it back down. Then she violently twists her whole body, bringing her elbow up, hoping she judged his head height well enough. Sure enough she hears and feels as it makes contact. The man slumps to the side and she's got just enough space to crawl in the direction of her gun.

Just as her hand finds the metal her attacker wakes up, immediately groping the space around him trying to find her. He catches her leg and begins to drag her back. Luckily she retained her grip on her fire arm and as he begins to rain heavy blows down on her body she aims and fires.

Again he slumps, only this time he won't awaken. Elizabeth scrambles to her feet and stumbles towards the door. The whole encounter lasted a matter of minutes but she knows that Ressler will be worried since she didn't respond. She wants to find him. Reassure him she's safe despite recklessly not following protocol.

As she continues towards the main living area of the apartment she seems Donald but she also seems another assailant closing in on him. For the third time tonight she raises her arm and pulls the trigger. The noise of her fire arm alerts Ressler to the danger and he swings round aiming his gun at her and the now dead man on the floor between them.

"Where the hell did you go Keen?" He seethes as he moves towards her.

"I followed someone who was trying to hide out in the back" she responds.

"Next time keep me in the loop and take back up, you hear me?" He barks back.

She knows there's blood on her face from the wound she sustained in the fall. She knows she must look dishevelled from the struggle and that all of this combined makes it look like she can't hold her own but she just saved his life and thinks that should count for something. In response she just lets out an exasperated puff of air.

Slowly they make their way back to the room she came from. They both enter cautiously, moving further into the room than Elizabeth managed previously. They sweep the room as best they can in the very low light coming in from the hallway but find nothing further.

They are moving towards each other when the faintest shadow is cast across the door. Without thinking Elizabeth dives towards Donald, turning her body in the direction of the door and firing just as shots begin to come at them. She feels the burning heat on her left arm and knows she's been hit. Luckily her bullets have also met their target and the gunfire stops.

"Jesus Keen, do you have a death wish?" Donald groans from underneath her.

"You know Donald, others would be appreciative of the fact I've saved their life twice. Be you go right ahead and bitch like a little girl" she retorts, angered and in pain.

A quick look at her arm confirms she's injured but luckily it's little more than grazed, leaving a deep and bloody gash.

In their ear pieces they begin to hear agents as they confirm rooms to be clear and assailants dead or apprehended. After several minutes, in which Elizabeth tries to wrap her arm and Donald continues to moan, they get confirmation that their informant is dead.

Donald looks at her, "fuck" he curses. She barely hears him as her heart again starts to pound, dominating her consciousness and her attention. Her eyes glaze over and she fears the worst for Red.

"Keen... Keen... Elizabeth!" Donald shouts breaking through her haze.

"What?" She asks suddenly unsure, unsteady but trying not to let him know.

"Let's get out of here. We need to debrief and you better get that arm looked at". He says only vaguely aware that she seems off.

Of course Donald suspected there was something between Elizabeth and Reddington. But after all these months working with her she's never once let slip her feelings, not once let him know how much she missed Red or how directionless she was without him.

Ressler wonders after all these months if he'd just imagined an attraction or attachment between them. They've searched fruitlessly for so long for Reddington that he feels like a ghost, as does every tiny action and effect that he left in his wake.

When they exit the building they find Cooper with Meera. When he seems her he looks shocked, "Keen, what the hell happened to you". She doesn't know what to say, she must be in worse shape than she thought. Luckily she's approached by two paramedics and Ressler is left to explain her injuries. She's a little concerned but since she saved him she assumes Ressler will have her back.

Hours later she's home. They've still heard nothing from Dembe and she feels a mounting anxiety. The techs have hunted down mobile phone and computer records for the informant and are sifting them to see if they can find anything to support his claims of Red's demise.

Elizabeth sits on her sofa as night departs and dawn creeps in, her bruises darken, her body hurts but there is nothing she can do. Cooper insisted that she go home. Telling her he doesn't want to see her in the Post Office till Friday. He claims she needs to recuperate from her injuries. But without news of Red she's in limbo. Over the next few days Ressler and Meera try to keep her in the loop but there is still no news. They take this as a good sign, knowing there would be some confirmation by now but Elizabeth is still desperate.

In an effort to keep busy she files the paperwork required to change her name legally back to Sam's last name. She follows it up with the bureau and wonders why it took her so long. The change will take a few weeks to be implemented but it's a start.

Her apartment is like a prison while she waits to be allowed to return to work. Unconsciously she stares at her phone, almost willing it to ring but the silence continues. A year ago she had a life and now she has little of anything. She wonders if this is rock bottom but then she worries that there is still a way to go. She's not sure of anything except how bleak her life feels.


	3. Chapter 3

He's back! ... and I hope you think it was worth the wait! Thank you for the reviews and follows again. It really is a big boost and motivation to keep going! Thanks again xx

Chapter 3

On Friday she gets to work as early as she can. She revisits all the intel gathered since the failed raid and spends countless hours pouring over it looking for any clue or indication of Red's whereabouts and status. But it's fruitless. Meera senses her unease and suggests the three take themselves off again, that a change of scenery would help them all.

In the bar Meera order drinks and brings them a series of glasses.

"What's this?" Elizabeth says as she eyes one of the shot glasses suspiciously.

"Tequila" Meera responds placing one in front of her.

Elizabeth pushes the glass away; she needs a clear head if she's ever going to figure this out. Meera pushes it back at her.

"Elizabeth, I think we need some distance, maybe a little perspective if we're ever going to find him" she knows it's a stretch and she can't see Elizabeth going for it but she has to try. Both she and Ressler drink their shots then reach for a larger glass that looks like it contains margarita. Elizabeth watches as they continue to drink, almost laughing at Donald drinking his not so manly cocktail.

Eventually she looks at Meera and says, "If this is going to happen then I'm going to need some lime". And with that she lifts the shot and drinks it down. They continue in the bar for a few hours, talking over things and throwing out ideas.

When Elizabeth gets home she thinks that Meera is right. She does need a little distance. Her thoughts are less stagnant than they've been and she feels more alive. This can surely only be a good thing in their search.

Weeks pass again and now Red's been gone for more than a year. Dembe hasn't been in contact despite numerous attempts by Elizabeth to reach out to him.

Despite the injuries sustained on the raid and Coopers increasing reluctance, she's continued to work in the field with Meera and Ressler. She tries not to be as reckless but she feels more fearless each time they head out. What has she got to lose that she's not already lost? In fact, what she got to lose that she's never actually had?

Outside of work she continues to see Meera and Ressler. One particular Friday night, following a long and arduous work week, they arrange to celebrate Meera's birthday. They know they'll have the weekend to recover so they plan to actually go home and change instead of heading straight to their usual dark bar.

Elizabeth surveys her wardrobe finally deciding figure hugging black jeans, tank top and killer heels is as dressed up as she's going to get. Slipping into the jeans she thinks they're more spacious than she remembers, she hasn't noticed the weight loss that's accompanied her loss of appetite. She grabs a blazer and heads out.

Meera has brought a number of friends and even Donald hasn't turned up alone so they are quite a crowd. The club is hot, dark and packed and it's like another world. Elizabeth doesn't know if it the deep, loud beat of the base but she feels like another person, like another person living another life. Maybe her name change, her new (old) name will be a fresh start. She's not the same Elizabeth and she no longer feels like Lizzie.

By the time she feels like dancing most of the party have already had one too many and headed home. Donald and Meera get ready to leave and assume she will go with them but she's not ready. For a year she's hibernated, barely existed, and now she feels something.

When they leave, which takes a lot of persuasion, she goes to the bar and orders another drink. She carries it and her small clutch bag to the edge of the dance floor and watches the crowd move. It takes another few drinks before she's ready to be more than a spectator. She wishes Meera hadn't gone because it would be easier if she weren't alone but the alcohol fuels her and she steps in.

She's lost on the dance floor; completely someone else. She interacts with strangers and before she knows it they've left the club for some bar that they claim is open all night. And so follows more drinking and much more dancing.

Somewhere in the night she checks her phone and sees several missed calls from Ressler and Meera. Meera's also text; asking where she is. She sends a quick response explaining she's out, adding a witty 'don't wait up!' It's at that moment she surmises that she's had enough to drink and finally decides to leave.

Outside the cool air catches her by surprise. She wanders up the street in search of a taxi and feels her phone vibrate again in the small bag.

She squints at the screen when she retrieves it, rolling her eyes when she sees it's Donald calling her again.

"Keen, where the hell are you?" He hisses in a low voice.

"I'm still out Donald. I know you went home to your slippers and pipe hours ago but imagine living a little" she replies glad he can't see the stagger that her gesticulation brought on.

"Well we've been called in so I suggest you get your ass down here pronto" he continues ignoring her jibe.

Immediately she feels a bit more alert, a bit more concerned. "What? Donald I've been out since you left. I am not fit for work"

"I don't think it can be avoided" he replies. She hears Ressler delicately explaining her situation but it seems it's to no avail as the phone is handed off.

"Keen this is Deputy Director Cooper. I'm commanding you to get yourself to the Post Office immediately. Am I clear Keen? Immediately!" Cooper orders none too politely.

She wants to tell him about the state she's in. About how much she's had to drink and how this will affect her judgement, reaction time, ability to do her job or anything effectively but she knows from his tone that it'll fall on deaf ears. The only place Elizabeth Keen should be going is bed but instead she says, "Yes Sir, I'm on my way."

She finally finds a taxi and gives him an address. She gets out at the end of the road and walks the short distance to the Post Office. Her small bag contains a few items but no ID to help her access the Blacksite. She has to wait till Meera comes up to identify her and she's issued with a temporary replacement badge.

Meera seems worried and tries to explain why they've been called but Elizabeth can't keep up. She's had too long a night and too much alcohol. Through the haze she hears something about shocked and sorry and how they've tried to contact her all night. She smiles to reassure Meera, hoping whatever this is can be resolved quickly and she can finally get the sleep she now desperately needs.

They exit the elevator and make their way in the direction of the control room. She's not looking around, not aware of the buzz and activity. If she were she'd know that something major was going on. It hasn't been this busy in months. It hasn't been this busy in over a year. It hasn't been this busy since Raymond Reddington disappeared.

Meera begins to lead her down the metal staircase. Just as she's about to begin descending, she cast an eye over the room. It's instant and almost primal. She feels his presence as much as sees him. She knows she's staring into the eyes of Raymond Reddington but in her intoxicated state she wants to get closer. She descends the stairs carefully. On the main floor she places her clutch on a nearby desk and continues to make her way towards him.

Raymond Reddington feels it too. From the moment she enters his line of sight he's transfixed. She's changed, he frowns knowing she not taken care of herself. She's lost her curves and is dressed in uncharacteristically, if understated, sexy clothing. For everything that's different there's still one thing that's insurmountable; she's still his Lizzie.

He watches as she descends the stairs and sees in her cautious movement that she's drunk, further gone than he's even seen her. He knew she's been out. It's why he chose this exact moment to walk back into the FBI. He wanted her with her shields down, unsuspecting and unprepared. He wants an honest reaction from her not her FBI, pseudo psychological, criminal profile training.

She places a small bag on a desk near the stairs and sways perceptibly as she continues her progress towards him. He doesn't move to close the gap. She's coming to him and he's letting her. She slows as she gets closer. Her eyes are sweeping his face looking for signs of how he's spent his year. Searching for some tell about whether he's struggled or lived well.

She can't see anything but wonders if she's just missing the obvious because she's lacking sleep and sobriety.

When she's close enough to touch she lifts her arms touching the silk of his vest. He's dressed impeccably as always, his suit jacket resting on a chair back, while he stands commanding the room.

Her left hand rises further, moving around and over his right arm and her right circles his waist. Raymond Reddington is not a man who likes to be caught unawares so he immediately reacts to her touch, pulling her into a firm embrace.

Her eyes close for a few moments while she drinks in his warmth, his scent. Her cheek rests on his freshly shaved skin, it's soft and seductive. She breathes deeply, wanting to savour this moment; the peace that comes from his return. Slowly she begins to extract herself; it feels like she's unravelling their bodies. When she lifts her face she pauses at his ear and whispers, so only he can hear, "welcome back... I've missed you", before stepping away and continuing her earlier fruitless examination of his features.

She still can't gauge his appearance. On the surface all seems well so she smiles a warm, welcoming, relief filled smile at him. A smile that her pain and insecurities would hide from him if her defences weren't down. But they are, and Red sees what he'd hoped for during those long months apart.

Slowly she pivots on her killer heels. He extends a hand, assuming rightly that she'll need steadied. With only a brief touch she rights herself, faintly giggles and walks away.

He watches her without word and without movement. Only his eyes track her as she retrieves her bag and retreats up the staircase from which she'd descended only moments ago.

There is a reverent hush in the room. It seems to extend moments after she leaves. They were all surprised by Red's sudden reappearance, but from the moment of his arrival, anticipation of Red and Lizzie's reconciliation was on everyone's mind.

Ressler and Meera lock eyes when the silence starts to lift; when everyone lets out the collective breath they didn't realise they'd holding. Their penetrating stares communicating what they cannot say aloud.

"Well that went rather better than expected" is all Red says before he moves to follow Elizabeth. Ascending the stairs he walks the gantry to her office but finds it empty. He knows that in her state she can't have gotten far. He thinks about how fragile she looked, how in need of rest and recovery she is and turns in the direction he knows she's gone.

Red approaches the box; the cage that held him captive and protected him in turn. He can see at a distance that she's there on the makeshift bed. She's on her side, her shoes are off but otherwise she looks exactly as she did moments ago. Too thin, too tired. She's already asleep, the alcohol and the relief assisting her escape.

Red watches her closely, it's a deep sleep but not altogether peaceful. He lifts a blanket from the bottom of the bed and gently covers her. He takes a seat close by and during the few hours that she slumbers he guards her, soothing her with touches and words that keep even her most frequent nightmares at bay.


	4. Chapter 4

Again I wanted to thank everyone for the comments and follows/favs. I really appreciate all the support and glad people are enjoying this story.

This is a bit shorter than my previous chapters but I like how it feels and wanted to get it out. I hope I got Lizzie's name right. I found more references on fanfic than anywhere.

Chapter 4 Elizabeth begins to awaken, with no awareness of her surroundings and no immediate memory of the night's turbulent events. She doesn't open her eyes; the blinding headache and the presence of significant amounts of alcohol still coursing through her system make it seem like an impossibility.

She feels someone near her. Despite the fact this hasn't happened in almost a year she's not perturbed. There's no physical contact but she feels warmth radiating from them that's comforting; intoxicating. A peace settles over her that she hasn't known in quite some time, she lets it envelope her like a cocoon; her body, her heart, her soul.

She drifts away again and the next time she's aware there is a gentle shushing; the type of sound used to soothe someone who's in pain. She doesn't realise the sound is directed at her, she can't yet remember the memories that have started to creep back causing her to frown in her sleep and then quietly whimper.

She continues to listen soundlessly to the soft murmurs, she's not sure who it is, she's not sure why they are doing it but she feels relief and contentment. That is, until the person making the sound reaches out and touches her hair.

Red watched the tension grow the longer she slept. Each time he speaks or reaches out he sees the calmness and stillness return. But eventually as she begins to surface from her slumber he draws back. He knows she will be angry with him for his absence, and angrier still that he's resuming his tactile ministrations.

When she moans again he immediately and without thought reaches out. He's spent hours there and touched her countless times but this time as he strokes her hair her eyes snap open. She doesn't move, she doesn't immediately focus on him but she's there.

"Lizzie" he purrs, using the same soft tone he's used the whole night through. She doesn't respond so he tries again, "Lizzie". Abruptly she rises. Blinking, obviously disorientated and confused, she gathers her shoes and walks out of the box without a word or glance in his direction.

She continues to walk, her only though about getting home, putting distance between them; between her and the past, her and the present. She strides up the stairs but without effort he's on her heels.

She almost sprints towards the elevator. Again she hears his soft and gentle voice say her name, "Lizzie". His voice is drawing her in but she battles against it. "That's not my name... don't call me that" she replies in short sharp snaps.

"Agent Scott" he responds.

She cannot help her reaction. She stops dead. It's a physical manifestation of the shock she feels. Like she's been punched in the gut. She knew eventually she'd be using that name but it's the first time anyone's called her it and those words from his lips are like a betrayal. He's provoking her and she's furious with herself for taking the bait.

She takes a deep breath, exhales and then resumes walking at a slower pace. She punches the button for the elevator and waits. He comes to stand beside her but she doesn't look at him or acknowledge his presence. When the elevator opens she's gets in, so does he.

"Elizabeth, I would like it very much if you'd answer me when I address you" he says stepping closer.

She's unsure now how to proceed. She is angry but feels foolish in this reaction. Raymond Reddington doesn't owe her anything. He's been willing to lay down his life for her but by his own admission they are not related. There is nothing tying him to her. Then what reason has he for his actions and what reason has she for this fury?

"You said you'd be there if I needed you" she finally says. Trying, almost successfully to keep the anger from her voice.

There's a pause and then he says softly, "There's a difference between need and want Lizzie".

She makes eye contact with him then, his gaze softer than expected, almost neutral. She feared a look of smug satisfaction or at least she feared her own reaction to such a look. Her cheeks burn with humiliation while her eyes burn with anger, but he's not saying it to shame her; he's simply saying it because it's true.

The elevator doors have opened but neither makes a move to leave. He steps closer still, "you're stronger than this Lizzie". She hears the words and as they begin to register the fight leaves her and she drops her eyes, her head.

He steps away, clearing her path out of the elevator and the building. She begins to walk, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing, while she digests the words he spoke to her. He's right, once she was stronger but somehow uncertainty and loneliness have worn her down.

When they reach the street Dembe is there with the car. Ghosting his hand over the small of her back he leads her and waits till she's seated inside, before he walks around and takes his own seat.

He doesn't attempt to speak. The silence again does the talking and Raymond Reddington knows what Elizabeth is trying to say. She's remembering her former self, her boldness and independence. She ruminates on this as they make their way towards her apartment.

When they pull up outside she doesn't immediately get out because she's lost in thought. He watches her; her eyes shifting around as she moves through her memories. When her eyes darken he decides it's time to step in. He leans towards her and very gently says her name. Her vision starts to clear and after a few seconds she looks round at him. She stares at him, the way she did the previous night. Her eyes run over his face, searching for changes, looking for answers. Eventually she makes eye contact and finds he's been staring at her just as hard.

There's a long silence while they sit looking at each other, each of them drinking the other in. Despite the relief she feels; the undeniable pull towards him, Elizabeth doesn't want to let him get close again. She can't make the same mistakes; she can't trust him, can't rely on him, can't need or want him. She knows she needs to get away before he so easily charms his way back in. So she breaks eye contact, opens the door and says, "thank you for the lift".

Raymond Reddington sits in the car watching her walk away, wondering if or how they'll get back to their former intimacy. Then he thinks his contemplations would be more insightful or at least more satisfying if fuelled by some of Frederick's mysterious liquid.

Chauffeured by Dembe he makes his way back to his favourite abode, briefly contacting Cooper to assure him that he and Lizzie are making progress on a new Blacklist target. He's buying the time and space she needs to adjust and he hopes that it is enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, thank you again for the comments. I am really enjoying this story but it's still a great motivation to read your thoughts. Keep em coming. I think there are maybe 3 or 4 chapters to go and I'm working away like one of Santa's elves trying to get them ready ;-)**

On Monday Elizabeth decides the best way to play it is low key. Perhaps apparent ease and a little nonchalance will convince them, and maybe herself, that everything is fine. She won't admit it but she's anxious to see him again, to confirm that she wasn't dreaming or delusional. She can feel herself rushing so she deliberately takes her time getting ready. It crosses her mind that she's making an effort for him but she can't be both slow and sloppy, so she carries on.

Of course he's there when she arrives. She keeps a distance, deliberately leaving it as long as she can before she has to acknowledge him. Finally when it's unavoidable she approaches him, still feigning disinterest. He seems amused already; watching her, assessing her and then he says with a small smirk, "Good morning Lizzie. You're looking more rested"

She bites her tongue, holding back the urge to tell him to shut up. Instead she tries to smile as genuinely as she can and softly responds, "good morning". His smirk intensifies as he marvels at her effort to play nice.

When the rest of the team assemble he tries to take his usual place near her but she's obviously decided against that idea. When they're standing she moves away, gathering whatever papers or evidence she can justifiably use. And when she returns she stands at opposite sides from her initial position; from him. When they're seated she has a recurring need for coffee or other banalities and somehow manages to never return to the same seat.

He lets it continue for a few days, amused at first. But then he doesn't want the distance, doesn't want this to become a pattern with her so he decides to let her know. They are leaving the meeting room on Thursday; breaking for lunch, while others head out to follow leads. He times it so they try to leave at the same moment. He steps back to allow her to exit first, ever the gentleman, and when she passes him he says in a low voice, "I know what you're doing Lizzie". She doesn't break stride but he can see the flush rise in her cheek and he knows she'll heed his warning.

She does.

And though she doesn't actively move away she won't let him touch her either, and they both feel the absence of their contact. Day after day they work alongside each other, in many ways just as they did before but now she remains just out of reach. Of course there are other differences too. She never visits him, doesn't tell him things or share a drink with him. All those things concern him but not touching her feels like the severest punishment of all. He surmises that the lack of contact has developed into a trust issue for her. He hopes when (or could it be possibly if) he earns her trust back that he will again be permitted these touches.

Although she brought about the situation Elizabeth too is bothered by the lack of contact. She almost mentions it to Dr Jacobs at their weekly sessions, wanting someone to tell her how her stubbornness has evolved into a habit. One that's keeping her up at night, making her wonder and second guess herself. She thinks she can't trust him but she's learning that she doesn't want to do without him either. Of course she decides against telling the psychiatrist this. There are already more than enough questions for her to side steps.

The weeks continue in uncomfortable silences, awkward moments and distant stares, more for her than for him: she's learned from experience that he has the uncanny ability to seem at ease in any situation.

Elizabeth thinks her life is like a mirror of her previous life; a parallel universe; a dissociative state. It seems neither of them can bridge the gap. On many sleepless nights she's almost leaves her house to seek him out and demand answers: but the insecurities that established themselves during his absence and the revelation of her husband as pseudo spouse left her doubtful. She remembers Red's sacrifice for her, his attention, his unwavering faith, the way he made her feel significant; to him, to everybody... she just can't bring herself to believe it. Soon they are closing in on another Blacklister. Red's made it easy on them, or at least easy on Lizzie. She's been there while he continued his usual mocking of Donald, she's tried to be a buffer, a distraction, although she knows Donald can hold his own. She feels like she owes him for his months of patience and friendship. When they finally get the green light to bring the target in she gets suited up as before. They are on site and making final preparations; Red has lured the target and moments after he exits the building he enters the temporary command post.

Cooper has a final word with him and starts barking orders. The adrenaline begins to flow and she listens with full alertness to each instruction. Red watches her, a faint frown and his lowered gaze displaying his displeasure at her desire to expose herself to danger. But for now at least he has thwarted her effort. He doesn't even act surprised when Cooper tells her to stand down. Nor does he seem repentant when she glares at him. Instead as the others leave he just tilts his head and says, "Alone at last".

She is furious, refusing to engage in conversation and intently watching the screens, monitoring the progress of their latest capture. Her heart is in her mouth as she vicariously experiences the raid through the cameras the team are carrying. Her heart still pounds, her senses still ready to go.

Despite the drama that's happening only moments away Raymond Reddington sits passively, looking at Elizabeth instead of the screens. She tries to ignore him but his dark perpetrating stare makes the room feel too small, her clothing too tight. She stands, removing the FBI emblazoned jackets and pulling the Velcro tabs holding her bullet proof vest in place. He continues to watch and she continues to avoid his eyes as she drapes the clothing on the back of her chair.

"Better?" He asks. She ignores him.

Suddenly they hear an explosion down the street. He's on his feet before she is, making his way to the door on instinct. He pauses just over the threshold, turning to her, "Lizzie, stay here!" He barks at her, using his body to block her exit.

"Red get the hell out of my way" she says as she draws her gun. He still doesn't move, instead moving towards her, forcing her to back away and effectively moving her back into the room. "Reddington, I am warning you. This is my job" she says as forcefully as she can. He seems to think for a moment, but then they hear gunfire on the street and they both turn, this time making it out the door.

Their end of the street is quiet but ahead they can see a burning car and people moving. They quickly but cautiously move ahead, trying to remain in the shadows until they are close enough to establish who is who. She suddenly remembers the bullet proof vest, keeping the chair protected back in the command post. She will need to be careful, all too aware that Red is also without body armour.

Through her ear piece she hears Cooper call her name. "Keen, I need you to provide cover for the agents exiting the building. We are on our way down and out now".

"Yes sir" she responds. "Red, I want you to stay behind me" she says looking over at him. He doesn't respond, she knew her request would fall on deaf ears but she continues regardless, "I'm armed Red, you have no means of protecting yourself."

He looks sceptical and then responds, "do not concern yourself Lizzie".

They take a defensive position near the exit and she lays down what cover she can. She doesn't really know what they are up against but she battles on regardless. She thinks she needs to get a bit closer. She wants to communicate this to Red but he's facing away, ensuring they are not ambushed from behind and she doesn't want to have to take him further into danger so she moves quietly, closer to the building and away from the cover that was her only protection.

She's making quick and steady progress on the street, only concerned with providing adequate protection for the FBI agents leaving the building. She sees a figure beyond the corner of the building and momentarily halts, trying to ascertain which side he is on. It's this short delay that saves her from greater injury; saves her life, as another explosion rocks the street. She's thrown backwards and lands heavily on her back and shoulder; the sound of the blast temporarily robbing her of her hearing and the debris and smoke from the blast obscuring her sight. Luckily it's having the same effect on everyone and she's in no greater danger than she was a moment ago.

What they don't know is that their Blacklist target is receiving information from the mole within the department and this whole scenario has been a set up designed to capture or kill them both. The only reason Red made it out of the building alive is because they hoped to lure Elizabeth too.

She struggles against her hearing affected balance but makes it to her feet. She is disorientated but tries to remain vigilant. She retreats to her earlier position, sinking to the ground and wondering why Red is not still there.

Of course, from the moment he realised she was absent he tried to find her, tried to ensure no harm came to her. But the momentary lapse of focus, necessitated by their vulnerable position, meant that she vanished from his sight. On hearing the blast he made his way around and towards the sound, praying that she hadn't been close to the car when it exploded. But it was almost impossible to see through the smoke so he retreated hoping she'd use their last position as a rendezvous point.

When he rounds the bend and sees her sitting, obviously dazed he squats down in front of her. He doesn't touch or immediately speak to her, he doesn't want to startle her and he needs a moment to assess any injuries. There is blood on her clothing but he's comforted that it doesn't look like a significant amount. She hasn't looked at him yet, a fact he finds most worrying.

"Lizzie, can you hear me?" he asks her. She looks up then, recognition slowly registering on her face. She briefly nods her head and looks away. He takes her gun from her hand, knowing that it will fall to him to protect them both until she recovers. "We can't stay here, can you move?" He asks, trying to draw her attention back. She nods again, looking at him directly now. He moves closer, wanting to offer her support and stability but she moves slightly away and stands unaided.

They stay low and close and move away from the building, back down the street to the command post. She follows Red, intermittently aware of her surroundings and the dangerous situation they are still in. She is relying on him completely, having given over her weapon and accepted his help. When they enter the command post he returns her weapon but he continues to take the lead.

A slightly battered and bruised Cooper returns, explaining what went down and the casualties they have sustained. Her hearing has mostly returned but her body is beginning to ache from the blast. Red asks and answers questions but eventually has Cooper agree to let him take Lizzie home; Red having reassured him that she'll be examined by a medic.

Instead of approaching an ambulance he guides her further away from the site to where Dembe is now waiting with the car. She is suddenly exhausted and wants nothing more than to be home so she sits in the car without argument. She's somewhat relieved when she sees that Dembe is headed in the direction of her apartment.

During the journey Red issues instructions about the things he wants brought over to her apartment, but she isn't listening in, isn't keeping tabs on how any of this might affect her. So when they pull up outside and Red exits the vehicle with her she's surprised. When the car pulls away leaving them both on the sidewalk she's alarmed. But her injury and fatigue mean she hasn't the energy for a confrontation. Mounting the stairs she hopes her actions will make it clear to him that she's recovered enough to look after herself.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for the comments. I'm sorry to Redlisted. I know Lizzie is being a little bit mean (in her defence Red is provoking her a bit – and I'd be pissed if he'd left me for a year ;-)) but that'll make it sweeter later ... I hope.

I am thinking of posting this story on AO3 – I've been reading Blacklist fanfiction there so it seems like the thing to do. Genuinely I don't know anyone in 'real life' who reads my writing - it is nice to know what people think.

Anyway – I might manage another update before Wednesday but I don't think so. For now I'll leave you with these words (followed by my own not so skilful ones xx).

**Though it's been said many times many ways ... MERRY CHRISTMAS.**

Elizabeth considers closing the door on him but she knows he won't be so easily put off and that he'll only make some caustic remark about her lack of social grace. And she knows if she locks him out that he'll somehow gain entry and then she'll have to deal with the ramifications of that too. He follows her inside the house, follows her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Finally as he's about to follow her into the en suite she turns and says sharply, "I've got this".

"Lizzie, you can let me help you with this or you can come with me to the ER. The choice is yours". He replies.

She pauses, not because she doesn't need him but because she doesn't want to relinquish control so easily this time. Finally she steps into the bathroom and he follows. He steps around her and searches the medicine cabinet for what he needs. She doesn't even protest the intrusion, she knows that if she just lets him have his way then this will all be over quicker. She places her gun and ID on the window ledge, more for something to do than for any other reason. She is attempting to distract herself from the fact that fate is about to put an end to their unspoken no touching rule.

He gathers a towel and brings it and the medical supplies to the counter top. He pulls her seldom used bathroom stool from the corner and motions for her to sit on it. He retreats to the bedroom and returns having removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and carrying the chair from her vanity. He sets it down behind her, close enough to the counter top that he can reach all that he needs.

When he sits down she shifts uncomfortably, almost involuntarily rising from the stool. This is as close as they've come in all the time that he has been back; all the time that he's been back and she's been sober. Her pulse starts to race and she recognises the flight or fight impulse that is taking over. She's already acknowledged that she needs his help so flight is not an option; God help them both.

He waits till she settles again, before pulling his seat closer to her. He needs to be close enough to see and tend to her wounds so he only leaves a small gap between their chairs, his legs straddling her on the stool. She sits rigidly in the chair, finally accepting the inevitable.

"Lizzie, you're going to have to remove your blouse" he says as casually as he can. "No" she snaps back almost instantaneously. He tries not to rush her, doesn't want to force her hand so he waits for her to make the decision herself. He can see through the tears in the material that there are lacerations to the skin over her shoulder blade, they don't look deep but they'll need to be cleaned and dressed.

Finally she reaches for the buttons and starts to remove her top. Her mobility is restricted by the wound and the already emerging bruising, so he assists as she takes it the rest of the way off. He's prepared to drop it on the floor but she keeps it within her grasp, pulling it around her body, using it to maintain some modesty. He knows she's feeling vulnerable so he lets her hold it like a security blanket despite the fact it's covered in dirt and dried blood. Some battles are not worth fighting.

With her almost bare frame in front of him he can see the extent of her weight loss and the injury to her arm from the gun battle a few months previous. He wants his touch to be delicate and tender, so he waits for the heat of his anger to dissipate before proceeding. As he begins to treat her he avoids any direct contact, knowing she doesn't want to be touched.

"Lizzie, I'm going to clean the wound with this antiseptic. It may sting a little" he says warning her. She just nods in response, resigned to her fate. He tips the bottle up and lets the liquid pour over the breadth of the wound; watching her body stiffen further in response. He knows he's doing all he can for her but he hates watching her suffer. He can't think of anything else to do so he purses his lips and gently blows onto her skin, hoping to take the edge off.

For her this gesture is far more intimate than any touch she could have imagined. It's born out of compassion, out of a feelings she can't reconcile herself with. It's like a gentle caress and coupled with the residual heat from his body it is too much.

Instinctually she jumps from the stool; dropping her blouse on the way. She crosses to the window and turns lifting her gun and aiming it directly at him. She hasn't meant for this to happen, it was not her intention when she placed the gun on the ledge but she means to warn him off.

To his credit he remains in his seat, motionless; a look of mild indifference on his face. He can see at this distance she is trembling, that the struggles of the year are manifesting in her defensive response. He waits for her to blink, for a sign that her conscious mind is taking over from the impulsive before rising from his seat.

He steps towards her, placing his hand on hers and gently pushing the gun down and away. He slowly but deliberately lifts his hand to cup her cheek, all the while leaving a small distance between their bodies. He doesn't want to over step the boundaries considering her current state of undress but he's not above a little intimidation.

He drops his head and whispers in her ear, "we both know you won't shoot me Lizzie".

The timber of his voice, his alluring scent and his close proximity bring on a physical reaction from her. She feels her body rise just a fraction as if pulled towards his. It's a small movement, almost imperceptible. Almost.

Red pauses, wanting to savour the idea of her body wanting his. He brushes his thumb lightly across her cheek. Involuntarily she closes her eyes. For the second time tonight he relieves her of her fire arm, setting it back on the window ledge before leading her back to the stool.

He returns to the task of tending her wounds but now the barrier has been broken, they have touched, he isn't so careful to avoid contact. He remains focused on the task but takes pleasure in the heat that meets his finger tips when his skin meets hers.

Eventually the wounds are cleaned and dressed to his satisfaction. He decides he can clean up once she's resting so he lets her know the task is complete. "That should do for now" he says. She doesn't move but over her shoulder he can see her jaw flex and he knows she has something to say. He waits while she gathers her thought, comfortable to be close to her and of some use.

"I'm sorry" she whispers still with her back to him, her voice thick with emotion.

"Don't be" he says before rising from his seat and retreating to the bedroom again.

Elizabeth continues to sit on the stool, embarrassment stopping her from following him even though, having been touched by him for the first time in months, she now feels bereft of the contact.

He returns carrying a piece of her clothing, she stands and he helps her put it on. She's looking at him while he fastens the buttons on the front. He is so close, so distracted by his tasks and she has to resist the urge to reach out and touch his face. He seems surprised when he looks up and sees her looking at him so intently. Again he waits, stepping back and giving her time to speak.

"Thank you" she finally manages. He just smiles that small dismissive smile in response. He leaves her again, having heard Dembe arrive, something she still can't make out because of the residual effects of the blast. She takes his leaving as disinterest, thinking wrongly that she'll soon find herself alone again.

She exits the bathroom, removing her shoes at the closet door and sits on the edge of the bed. The room is dark and she doesn't move to turn the light on, exhaustion preventing her from even this small task. Alone in the room she finally lets the days dramatic events wash over her like a wave. She feels herself bow under the weight of it all ... But then she hasn't made it this far alone without some strength so she rights herself, the few tears that have escaped the only evidence of her short lapse.

When he re-enters the room she makes eye contact. He sees surprise registered on her face and considers that she's assumed he had left for the evening; without discussion, without taking leave. He frowns but remains silent, placing water and pills on her bedside table and reaching for the light switch. He can see in the lamp light the moisture on her face and he knows the decision to stay with her tonight was a sound one. He then goes back to the bathroom to clean away the remnants of the medical supplies and her ruined clothing.

When he returns she is sitting exactly as before. He leans against the door frame, watching her as she watches him. He can see in his peripheral vision that the water and pain medication he had Dembe bring are untouched.

"Lizzie" he says simply, his tone indicating the warning he wants to impart.

She continues to stare back, unmoved and unmoving. When he pushes away from the door frame she quickly, if unsteadily rises to her feet, making her way toward the bottom of the bed. "Lizzie" he says again, the cautionary inflection this time unmistakable.

She turns to face him, "I don't need you here" she says. He continues to progress towards her, taking her elbow and guiding her around the bottom of the bed and only releasing her when she is again settled on the side. He can hear her laboured breathing and he knows she's running on her last remaining store of adrenaline. She too knows this is the last stand, she may have put off the inevitable break down but she can't hold it back for much longer.

He walks back around the bed, returning with the water and medication, depositing the water on the night stand and the pills in her hand. She places the pills beside the water.

"I want you to leave" she says.

"And I want you to take something for the pain. It appears neither of us is destined to get what they want out of life." He says dryly.

He decides that further argument would be fruitless so he touches her face, as he'd done in the bathroom a short time before, then leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He waits there on the threshold, for sounds of movement or distress. Inside she continues to sit motionless; the water and medication untouched.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Hello, here is my belated but sweet (I hope) Christmas gift to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed/fav my story ... Thank you so much! xx**

Finally he moves quietly to the guest room, finding within all the items he requested Dembe bring over. He walks around the bed, himself sitting on the edge looking out into the night. It's not much of a view but none the less he prefers to do his thinking while studying the distance; tonight because of the surrounding houses he'll have to make do with the middle distance.

A few hours later he hears her bedroom door open. He waits to see where she will go, if she's looking for him or needing something from another area of the house. She approaches his door and because it's not all the way closed he can hear her soft footsteps. She stops outside the door, listening for signs of movement in much the same way he did.

"Come in Lizzie" he says loudly enough for her to hear but not so loud that he will startle her. For several moments she remains still but then he hears her weight shift and the door begin to open. She stops just outside the door and he rises from his seated position, turning towards her; waiting, listening.

Eventually she asks him in a small voice, "Do you think that's true?" Her tone is heartbreakingly vulnerable, almost too broken for him to bear.

"Do I think what's true?" He asks in response trying to sound neutral.

"That neither of us is destined to get what they want out of life?" She says in the same desolate tone.

"Lizzie" he says his voice now betraying the emotion he feels. He quickly moves around the bed towards her but before he can reach her she slumps against the door frame, slipping to the ground, tears flowing freely; her hands partially masking the expression of deep sorrow on her face.

He sinks to the ground beside her, pulling her onto his lap and into his arms "Lizzie sweetheart" he says as he holds her, kissing her hair repeatedly and soothing her as she continues to mourn everything that has transpired: her broken marriage, her troubled life, her extended isolation.

She holds him tightly, her arms now around him, her hands balled into fists holding his clothing. She's holding him like he might vanish from her sight if she doesn't keep a tight grip. He marvels at this; at feeling wanted and needed by her. He holds her firmly so she feels secure, enjoying the scent of her hair and the feel of her skin.

"I was so lonely without you" she almost exhales some time later.

He tightens his embrace on her, "I'm sorry my love, I'm sorry" he says repeatedly into her hair, kissing her head and caressing her.

He continues to console her, even when her tears have subsided and her breathing slows and regulates. He knows she's not sleeping as she continues to maintain her tight grip on him.

"Why don't we get to bed?" He says softly into her hair.

She doesn't loosen her grip but she sits up slightly. He lifts her gently from his lap, placing her on the floor and rising to his feet. She's so thin now he could probably lift her from that position and carrier her but he doesn't want to make assumptions.

Carefully he helps her up and meets her eyes. In her gaze he sees her fragility, her weariness and the depth of feeling she has for him. He steps closer, kissing her temple and letting his lips linger there, both of them enjoying the feelings he is communicating. He lifts her then, carrying her back to her room.

He sits her on the bed, taking a seat beside her and reaching for the water and pain medication, she takes it without argument. When she's taken them he takes her hand and they sit quietly for a while, before her exhaustion and the strong pain meds making her eyelids heavy. He helps her stand, pulls back the cover and waits until she gets in. She's more or less fully dressed, as is he, but undressing would take too much energy and move them beyond their realm of comfort for that moment.

He is considering whether to walk around the bed and get in or just to sit there and watch her, but she makes the decision for him, moving across the bed and pulling back the cover; inviting him in. He slips in beside her, wrapping her in his arms, enjoying the heat of another person in his embrace. But the truth is; she's not just another person. She's all that he's wanted for as long as its mattered: as long as he's known her.

When she awakens she's still wrapped in his arms, he's awake already, grazing her back with his finger tips, kissing her hair, breathing deeply, enjoying her warmth, her scent. She tries not to alert him to her conscience state, enjoying his tenderness but she guesses he already knows; he's too astute to miss the signs.

Her head is tucked underneath his chin; partially resting on his chest. She lifts her own chin, stretching towards his neck and breathing deeply; savouring his scent; that seems to have intensified in the warmth of their sleep. He doesn't exactly groan but there is the faintest sound of satisfaction emanating from deep within his chest. She tucks her head back down and closes her eyes again, relaxed for the first time in as long as she can remember.

"Good morning" he says in a deep and seductive voice. She smiles in response. He can feel her smile against his body and he smiles, leaning down to breathe her in again, running his lips through her hair, leaving a trail of imperceptible kisses. It feels intimate, like something you'd only do with someone cherished and she lets him do it repeatedly, a fact he can barely believe. "Can I get you anything?" He asks.

"I'm ok" she says back. "I think I might take a shower". She stretches again and he finds her movements alluring, her long lean frame pressed against him. When she relaxes and sits up he follows. She groans, her body reminding her of the damage she sustained only hours before.

"Ouch" she says.

"I'll get you something for the pain while you shower" he says in response; brushing her hair from her shoulder so he can see her face. She looks over her shoulder at him and nods in response.

"Thanks" she says as she stands and walks into the bathroom. He hears the shower start and begins to rise himself when the bathroom door opens again.

"I think I need your help" she says, the hint of a blush on her

cheek. "Of course" he says, making his way to her, helping her to take off her shirt and turning her to gently remove the dressing he'd applied the night before. She's standing in her bra again and he runs his hand over the bare skin of her uninjured shoulder. She shivers, more from desire than from the chill. She turns and looks him in the eye, holding his gaze before soundlessly retreating to the bathroom.

He stands there for a moment, remembering the feel of her skin, its softness and its warmth, before leaving the room. He feels a deep desire for her but he wants to do this right, at her pace.

He makes his way to the kitchen, casting an eye over the groceries Dembe has supplied and making tea for both of them. When the tea is ready he returns to her bedroom, she's still in the bathroom so he knocks on the door.

After a few seconds delay, in which she tightens her hold on the towel she has wrapped around her body she says, "Come in". He enters holding their cups.

"Tea?" He asks and she smiles in response, moving towards him and taking the cup that he offers.

"Thank you" she says.

He pulls out the bathroom stool again. She takes her seat without a word, knowing he wishes to reapply the dressing. She closes her eyes, enjoying the heat of the cup in her hands and the feeling of being cared for. He doesn't sit this time but brushes her damp hair aside while he tends her wounds. He frowns at the bruising that has emerged since the previous evening; he wants to protect her from more harm.

When his task is complete he gently runs his finger tips from her hairline to the edge of the towel. He hears her breathe deeply and spurned on he walks around her maintaining contact. When he stops in front of her he moves his hand to her face, running his thumb along her bottom lip, watching as it opens marginally from the pressure. She watches him closely, wondering how she made it so long without him; starved of his scent, his presence, his essence; when now it seems so essential.

Finally he steps back smiling; placing his hands in his pockets and tilting his head as if he can't quite believe the turn of events.

After a few more moments he say, "Breakfast is in 15 minutes, I trust you'll be ready" Then he moves away, finally retrieving his tea cup.

"Yes, thank you". She responds.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Hi. Turns out l night need to change the rating for the next chapter, can't imagine how that happened! *she says looking sheepishly away* **

**Unless I clean it up a bit, and I'm not sure yet, then I think I might be moving to an M rating.**

**I hope you enjoy this; I'm pleased with how it's going but definitely planning to finish before The Blacklist returns in the New Year. I feel this has to be resolved before some truth is told, spoiling my vision of them broken then reconciled. The stories about her being the daughter of his old enemy and him using her to achieve some vengeance just kill me!**

When she finishes in the bathroom she comes back into the bedroom, finding a fresh glass of water and more pain medication. She gladly takes them, hoping to stave off the mounting discomfort and knowing she'll need some relief if she's to dress alone, and since she's a grown woman she's decided that she will have to manage.

When she's checked her appearance in the mirror for the umpteenth time she walks out of her bedroom and goes down the stairs to find Red. She can hear movement in the kitchen, and smell the aroma of fresh coffee and something else, something sweet.

Slowly she walks into the room, hoping he won't hear her coming and that she'll have a moment to savour the sight of him. But of course The Concierge of Crime is nothing if not observant, and he's known she's been on her way since she started on the stairs.

"Lizzie" he greets her with a warm smile on his face. "Please take a seat, I assume you're hungry".

"Eh yes I guess" she says tentatively sitting herself at her own table. "Good, you've been neglecting yourself for some time. Let's begin the task of correcting that situation, shall we?" He says as he continues his task of flipping pancakes. She ignores the jibe, knowing the truth of the statement and the futility of denying it.

"Can I help?" She asks him. But he gives her an incredulous look before continuing. When he's plated it up he carries bits and pieces over to her. Before her eyes are pancakes, fruit salad and a selection of store bought but oven warmed pastries. He's also showered and changed, looking as impeccable as always, and she wonders just how he's managed to do all this in the time it took her to simply get herself dressed. "Thanks" she mumbles, not knowing what to say.

She starts on the pancakes since they are still warm from the pan. They are delicious; she isn't surprised to learn that he can cook. There seems to be no end to his talents.

"Did you make these from scratch?" She asks, knowing he has – she's can't imagine he would be satisfied with premixed ingredients of any kind.

"Lizzie, you wound me" he says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

She just smiles in response and goes back to her pancakes before moving on to the fruit salad. He stands to retrieve the coffee and pours her a cup while she just watches him. Not only has he stayed the night, not only did they share her bed but now he's waiting on her like it's the most natural thing in the world: and somehow it is.

When they are ready and he's tidied up to his own satisfaction, continually refusing her assistance, they leave together for the Post Office. Dembe is waiting outside and she takes her seat assisted by Red.

When he takes his seat he reaches for her hand. She looks down at their hands almost the whole way. Red talks over business and other arrangements with Dembe, not cautious now of her presence, but occasionally giving her hand a small squeeze so she knows he's thinking about her.

When they reach the Blacksite he rounds the car as Dembe opens her door, he then offers his hand again and helps her to stand. She's a little stiff to be sure but she could manage alone. But she lets him. Enjoying the warmth of his skin, knowing they'll be physically separated while they are on site. In the elevator he rests his hand of the small of her back, standing close to her. He's always had a way of invading her personal space but now anyone looking at them would be suspicious.

When the doors open he steps back, she thinks she hears a small humph of disappointment but when she looks at his face it's even, a mask of confidence, bordering on smug pretension. That's the face she hasn't seen since they stepped inside her house last night, yet she recognises it; feels comfortable, reassured almost, knowing that it's part of him.

They make their way to the control room and continue the debrief from the previous day. All is as it was, almost. It seems instead of no touching he's intent on touching her at any given opportunity. The small of her back, her elbow or her hand if no one is near them. She should perhaps be perturbed but instead she's buoyed up by these. It gets her through the imposed isolation of the Post Office.

Then wordlessly they return to her house, he prepares dinner and they turn in for the evening; he in the guest room and her in her bedroom. But she comes to him again in the night and they return to her bedroom, sleeping much as they did the previous night.

This becomes the new status quo, sometimes in her home, sometimes at Fredrick's, sometimes in some elegant hotel that he's familiar with and knows will be safe. Unintentionally they've spent every day and night together. It has not been acknowledged or openly discussed by them; both more than comfortable with the arrangement as it stands.

Weeks later she's in the meeting room, a briefing from AD Cooper having just ended. Only she and Meera hold back, both are using the coffee machine, passing cups and sugar and milk in industrious silence. Elizabeth is surprised when she hears Meera's voice, almost oblivious to her non intrusive presence.

"What's with you and Reddington recently?" Meera asks.

Elizabeth tries to keep her expression neutral, tinged with a little confusion as if she doesn't know exactly what Meera alludes to.

"I'm not sure what you mean, I think everyone's had to adjust to having him back. The teams expanded again. We went from manhunt back to full on blacklist mode." She stops there, aware that if she continues she'll start to move into _'protesting too much'_ territory.

"I hope this doesn't surprise you, and I have a strong feeling that it won't but don't you see how he moves around you? Like he's always anticipating your need. How he's either touching you or so close he might as well be."

"I hadn't noticed" she responds but she can see Meera is unconvinced. She's attempting to control her breathing, her heart rate even, but it's difficult for her to keep her composure while Meera voices aloud all the little things she savours in her head.

"You don't exactly discourage him. You seem ... Comfortable with it. I'd even go as far as to say you reciprocate." Meera says examining her friend, her colleague.

"I don't know what you mean" she says as calmly as she can.

"I'm going to call it devotion" she says then pauses "I'm going to call it that because the other thing that it might be scares the shit out of me. And it should scare the shit out of you too Liz." Meera says continuing to look at her. She feels the weight of her gaze, knows how skilled an interrogator Meera can be.

"Meera, I ... I mean ... I think he's just..." She's flailing around in her thoughts, trying to come up with some plausible excuse but it's not fast enough.

"That's what I thought" Meera says taking her coffee and walking from the room.

Fuck she thinks. Fuck fuck fuck.

"Fuck" she says out loud when the silent cursing doesn't seem to help.

From the door way she hears a soft, "tsk tsk", then he says, "language Lizzie" a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Don't reprimand me Reddington. You're the cause of all this." She spits out.

"The cause of what my dear?" He asks, his smile widening, wondering how she'll explain the conversation he's already overheard and amused that she reverts to his surname when she's shaken.

But she can't say anything. To explain why he's to blame, and she's certain he is, would be to say things out loud that she's not ready to hear, let alone acknowledge. Or maybe it's that she thinks he's not ready or not willing to hear them.

"How much did you hear?" She asks knowing him well enough to know he's not come to the party unprepared.

"A bit" he says appraising her. Before she'd be infuriated by his tendency to avoid her questions, side step the truth, but now she realises what he's admitting to.

"What should I say? Meera isn't going to stop her probing. She's good at her job!" She says panic rising.

"Calm down Lizzie, what truth do you wish to tell her?" He asks, eyes gazing at her.

"What truth? Are you kidding me? How about the actual truth. How about something so convincing I don't have to answer any more questions!" She blurts out.

"And what is that truth Lizzie" he says stepping forward, watchful as she swallows nervously.

"Red" she says, her voice strained.

He steps closer, touching her hand, slowly lifting his eyes to hers. "Everything will be fine Lizzie, everything is fine. I'll speak with Agent Malik but you must try to be calm." he reassures her.

He then walks to the counter, finishes preparing her drink and brings it to her, cupping her hands as she takes it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Chapter 9 of a story that I meant to be little more than a one shot.**

**This update got huge ... I've split it into 2 and the M rating most definitely applies to the next chapter. I will hopefully finish editing that today and post tomorrow. **

**I got some amazing feedback for the last chapter - thanks to everyone for the supportive remarks. Also thanks to all the new follows and favs. There are about 2 chapters left and maybe a very short epilogue xx**

Then one morning out of the blue he tells her he has to leave town, "for how long?" she asks.

He smiles, them responds, "a short while".

She hears the echo of the past as it reverberates; similar words spoken over the phone, heralding a change in her life. She's gotten used to hiding, portraying a character to people at the Post Office, so she does her best to play that part now. Yet his words rock her and maybe it's the shallowness of her breathing, or her stillness that gives it away.

"Lizzie" he says his tone reassuring yet not quite enough to quelch her growing panic, "Lizzie" he tries again. "I'll be gone a few days at most, I'm sorry I startled you".

She feels the panic subside slightly but it's left something of its self behind. "No, I'm sorry" she says, "I'll let Cooper know".

"I don't need you to let Cooper know. I just need you to know. But I also need you to promise that you'll be careful while I'm gone. I don't want to worry about you during my absence; I'm trusting you Lizzie." he says watching her, his hand in hers, his thumb moving soothing circles on her palm, helping to keep the tide of fear at bay.

So she goes to work, goes without him for the first time in what must only be weeks but feels to her like forever. She is a ship without anchor, yet furious with herself for not being stronger. Perhaps if she'd had more notice and prepared herself then things would be different but he caught her unawares.

It's this unwelcome feeling, the residual effect of her panic that fuels her when they are called out into the field at short notice, a seemingly hopeless lead suddenly made good.

It's this same desperate energy that pushes her when she pursues their target, this time only Meera's strength and tenacity help her to keep up.

But when finally they unwittingly back themselves into a corner it's this same anxiety that causes her to shield Meera when their target produces a fire arm. She feels the bullets as they hit her back, she feels the pain as the Kevlar absorbs the impact, ultimately protecting her but hurting her none the less. But it's Meera who returns fire; too late to save Elizabeth from injury but fast enough to save their lives.

She loses consciousness immediately, more from the impact and the immense force, which has stolen the oxygen from her lungs, than from actual injury. It will take some time to establish but she's only suffering from two cracked ribs, some severe bruising and a situation specific bout of shock.

When she awakens she's in an ambulance, a fact she doesn't even question. She can hear Meera's voice; bristly and impolite as always. It's this tone more than anything that gets her to relax; convinces her that this is the norm.

"Who was that?" she asks sounding groggy and weak, when Meera finishes her call.

"Reddington" Meera says. "He just landed back in DC and he says he couldn't reach anyone, which I took to mean you. I've told him where we are headed."

She tries to sit up, the pain and disorientation making it impossible, "Meera" she says in an exasperated tone.

"What? I tried to break it to him gently but you know how he is" she says.

Elizabeth just laughs, she does know and despite everything that's occurred tonight she knows he's returned to her and the relief makes her a little giddy.

"Oh Meera, I'm in so much trouble" she says closing her eyes.

"You really are" Meera says back, her voice thick with sarcasm.

She is hours in the ER, between the waiting, examination, X-rays and diagnosis. She knows he must have arrived. The way Dembe drives they could have made it to her location in 45 minutes even in heavy traffic. So he's punishing her by not seeing her; not slipping his way past the guard or bribing his way in. She's disappointed but ultimately not surprised; he had warned her to be careful but she'd adopted a devil may care attitude fuelled by panic and desperation. Those few short hours he'd been gone, like a flash back to all of those months without him.

When she's given the all clear she gathers her things and walks out. She doesn't look at him but sees him in the shadows as she greets Meera, reassures her that her injuries are superficial. Then as confidently as she can she moves to the exit, hoping to put some distance between her and his animosity.

But outside Dembe is waiting and she's in no state to evade them so she takes her seat and waits till he joins her. The journey is tense, a torturous silence, during which he neither looks at her nor touches her. She gets the feeling even Dembe is annoyed. When the car finally stops at her house she would jump out if her tender ribs would let her.

Instead she makes do with opening her own door, before either of them can move, pushing herself to stand and leaving for the safety of her apartment.

But it's all to no avail because he's behind her, though silently, she can feel his presence. "Don't follow me in here if you're going to continue to punish me" she says mounting the stairs.

"In what way would my treatment of you amount to punishment Lizzie? I waited on you while you received medical treatment, I've provided you with transportation home and now I'm escorting you to your door" He says darkly as he continues to follow her.

"You know exactly what I mean" she says as she opens the door, attempting to get inside before he can follow. But it's too late, she guessed it would be. His hand is on the door, opening it wider and firmly closing it behind them. He stands for several minutes, without turning, without speaking.

She has placed her bag on the bottom step, preparing herself for the battle she feels brewing. Her heart is racing, thinking about her inevitable defeat. Since his return she's been stronger, more resilient but she's no match for him and they both know it.

Slowly, oozing fury and danger he turns around to look at her. She almost shrinks under his dark unwavering gaze but she won't. "What was my one instruction to you Lizzie?" He asks in a menacing voice, no more than a whisper.

She doesn't respond, just tries to maintain eye contact. She knows he's angry, she can understand why but protecting Meera was the right and dutiful thing to do.

He pushes off the door and she thinks he's about to circle her, like a predator assessing its prey. He does in fact move around her, maintaining his distance. She moves too, intimidation forcing her to betray her nervousness. Somewhere through the panic induced haze she thinks to make her way to the door, offering him and his anger a way out.

As she reaches it he silently steps in behind her; one hand on the door, using the other to turn her body. Her shock at the sudden proximity makes her lose focus and sends her slightly off balance. She leans into him and he meets her half way, his lips finding hers as his body pushes her firmly into the door, all pain and tenderness forgotten.

It takes her a moment to realise what's happening, but her body has kept up even though her mind couldn't, and she finds herself kissing him back, matching his heat, his angered passion. His hands move roughly over her body, gripping her hips before moving further up.

In response she lifts her hands, digging her fingers through his clothing into the flesh of his back. Spurred on by his continued aggression she quickly pushes his jacket from his shoulders. She lets it fall to the floor at their feet while he harshly pulls at the hem of her shirt, aiming to remove it, not caring if it's ruined in the process.

Then suddenly it stops, he instantly lifts his hands from her body, placing them on the door on either side of her, lowering his head while he takes deep ragged breaths, his eyes still closed. She drops her hands: those that had begun to roughly pull at his tie, the buttons of his vest. She drops her eyes, rejection heating her cheeks.

Finally his hands slide down the door and he steps back. She wraps her arms around herself, the change of pace making her feel exposed and uncertain. He moves back seemingly surveying the room as he goes, finally stopping across from her.

"Elizabeth, I won't be rough with you: Not tonight, not any night". He finally says, and she hears the implications of the words. He's telling her that there will be a tonight and then other nights; together, like this. It makes her hot but unsteady.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N WOW! Thank you for the amazing amazing reviews! So glad you liked the last chapter. My story isn't far from the end ... but it's been so much fun xxxx**

**I find it difficult to write intimate scenes (read smut). So here are some carefully chosen words that I hope convey exactly how I think it should go down, if that isn't some terribly crude pun ;-)**

**An immediate continuation from the last chapter. **

******* Rating change – final warning *******

"What are we doing?" She says as she pushes herself from the door.

"You know exactly what this is." He responds, his tone slightly baiting.

"I think I know, some days I feel certain. But do you?" She pauses before continuing, "Please don't do this to me if you don't mean it. I won't survive you." She says, too afraid of rejection to meet his eyes.

"I have meant everything I have ever said to you. Every word. Don't doubt me. You won't have to survive me, I have no desire to be anywhere else except here with you." He says with an intensity to his voice she's never heard.

The whole time he has been speaking he's moved progressively towards her. By the time he utters the last syllable their lips are almost touching, their eyes locked as if in battle. She is silently pleading for this to be true, for him to kiss her so she can believe in his actions what she is just starting to believe in his words.

As their lips meet, both close their eyes. He kisses her tenderly and tentatively this time. His lips gently part hers and she feels the warmth of his mouth as it meets hers. He lifts his hand to her head, letting his fingers slip into her hair.

She notices things this time, things she'd missed in the severity of their first kiss; the softness of his lips, how assured his movements are. The heat radiating from him and the small sensual groan he makes when she leans her body against his.

This time when he stops kissing her it's slowly, he's moved his mouth to her neck, lingering there before finally just basking in her heat. She slides her arms from around him but continues to touch the front of his vest. She can't think about anything else, not what might happen in the next five minutes and not what might happen in the next 5 days. She just exists with him in that perfect, certain moment in time.

He leans back and looks at her directly, his eyes filled with raw emotion, "you must be certain Lizzie, necessity may have taught me to conceal it more effectively but I can assure you that my desire is as all consuming as yours".

"Red" she chokes out, her voice filled with relief and emotion. The fog starts to clear and her thoughts begin to have some clarity. She knows what she wants to say but she doesn't know if she dares. Her eyes sparkle with it, with the words that have been unspoken since the moment of his return.

He continues to watch her, but old habits die hard and instead of listening to words he reads from her eyes, her expression and her body what it is she's desperately trying to say. Finally when he's convinced he lifts his hands to frame her face, "I love you" he whispers as tears start to spill from her eyes.

She takes an unsteady breathe, shocked, but she doesn't hesitate further, doesn't wait a beat longer before responding, "I love you too".

He lightly brushes away the tears she has shed, and then he kisses her again. This time she feels the joy in it and returns the feeling with equal fervour. He has his arms around her and lifts her from the ground; she takes it as a signal and wraps her legs around his waist.

It is exactly what he wanted, not wanting to break contact so he can lead her upstairs. He carries her with him, holding her tightly in one arm using the other against the wall to maintain their balance.

Once beside the bed she unwraps her legs, while he lowers her to the ground; the whole time he continues to kiss her, his tongue caressing hers, then the thrill as he gently bites and pulls at her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.

She is lost to him, having never experienced this level of attention in any previous sexual encounters. She tries to stop herself but she can't help but think back to the last time she was with Tom. She thinks how he'd only pretended to want her, how she hasn't ever know genuine desire or what it is to really make love; to make love with someone who loves you back. It makes her stiffen slightly and of course he misses none of it.

He doesn't immediately stop, but he slows, making his movements more tender. Then he wraps his arms around her, holding her close and tilting his head till his cheek rests on her hair.

"We don't need to do this tonight Lizzie, there is no rush." He breathes out trying to calm his mind, his body.

She can't think how to explain herself, she certainly doesn't want to ruin the moment but she also knows she owes him the truth. "I'm nervous I guess." She says then stops. She thinks how best to describe her feelings, how to explain and not mention Tom. "I'm worried I won't be enough, or it won't be right" she says. She knows she's not explaining it well but she's giving him an insight into how she feels.

"Lizzie, you know how I feel. Whatever you choose to give me, however much, I promise you it will be enough, not just tonight but always." he says as his hand tilts her chin up to look at him. She's so filled with gratitude she feels tears welling up again, but she doesn't want him to see so she closes her eyes and leans in to kiss him. He kisses her back, the desire back in his touch. She waits till he stops to look at her, then with her lips swollen and red, her voice soft and sultry she says, "I want this".

He smiles a smile she's only seen once before, though her memory is hazy she remembers how he looked the night (or early morning) he returned to the Post Office. She saw him smile that smile after she hugged him. She thinks that if this is love then maybe it's possible he's loved her since then. It fills her with a confidence that the memories of Tom had stolen.

She reaches for his vest and while he continues to kiss her she undoes the buttons, she runs her hands up his body, pushing it off his shoulders. She thinks unless he goes around in the night, picking it all up, that in the morning her floor will be littered with his clothing, a sure sign of their activities.

He reaches for her shirt, undoing the buttons slowly, wanting to savour every moment of their first time together. When it's opened he steps back a fraction, she watches him with dark eyes as he places a hand on her stomach before slowly moving it around her body, pushing back her shirt and exposing her breast, she hears him breathe in deeply, his eyes lingering on her. He's seen her in her bra before but this is different.

He turns and sits on the side of the bed, using his hand to pull her round and close to him. He looks up at her as if asking permission, she's feels her heart constrict, he is being so delicate, so romantic that all she can do is nod.

He lowers his head, his mouth meeting her breast just above the cup of her bra. He kisses her there while his hands move around her body and up the smooth skin of her back. She decides to take the lead a little, removing her shirt entirely and reaching for the hooks holding her bra in place. She undoes it but moves her hands to hold the front, not yet ready to be that exposed.

He stands again, meeting her eyes, touching her lips with his fingers, "Lizzie" he says, and it sounds like a prayer, a whispered entreaty. She lets the bra go, reaching up to touch his face. She kisses him again, while he lifts her and gently places her on the bed. He lays himself on her, supporting some of his weight on his left arm.

As he kisses her he moves his hand up her body, finally touching the flesh of her breast, his thumb running over her nipple. She groans into his mouth and as he chuckles she bites his lip, this elicits a groan from him and she smiles as he deepens the kiss.

She's consumed by him, her prior experience far from the satisfying experiences of sexually liberated 30 something New Yorkers or popular explicit novels. Life isn't TV; life isn't a BDSM utopia; for her it's been mostly a frustrating disappointment of unsated desire.

Yet, as he touches her; removes the rest of their clothing, as he kisses and caresses her, she feels aroused beyond anything she's ever known. She thought the fault was hers before, but now she's learning what it's like to be wanted.

He lifts his hand to her neck; uses his thumb to push her chin up, exposing her throat; gently biting at the sensitive veins and nerves buried under the skin. While he continues to tease her he growls, "to think I could have lost you... lost this." He breathes against her skin. Then she feels and hears him say, "never again".

He moves gently down her body, nipping her with his mouth, licking and kissing her all the way. By the time he reaches her stomach she's almost lost. Intuition tells her what he's about to do but apprehension makes her body move, sending him a signal to cease and desist.

Yet he continues, parting her legs and using his tongue to lap at her. Almost instantly she feels it build, this unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. He pushes on, using his tongue to stimulate her before enveloping her with his mouth, sucking her until she can't hold on.

As her orgasm takes over she gasps his name; the sound is part moan, part sob and he moves up her body to reassure her, holding her as it continues to consume her.

"Red" she says, when reality starts to return, her voice weak and insecure.

"My love." he says as he kisses her; comforts her, wraps her in his arms.

She grasps at him and he leans against her, letting her feel his reassuring presence.

"Hey" he says, absentmindedly wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Hey" she responds breathlessly, holding back on everything else she wants to say, worried that it's fuelled by her desire, her recently fulfilled desire.

He continues to hold her but she begins to think about his needs. She may never have known such unrestrained attention but she's thinks, despite his bravado, that he's waited just as long to make love like this.

She kisses him deeply, feeling the rumble of desire in his chest long before he groans. She wants to reciprocate his attention but waits for a signal from him, wondering if he wants her mouth or just to be inside her. Slowly he moves his body over hers, she knows now he's not hoping for anything else.

When he settles his body over hers he pauses, again seeking permission. In their eyes they try to convey a million thoughts; sought after and granted permission, admittance of their shared abstention, recognition of their shared desire, acknowledgement that they are not using protection and what that means. What they each see in response in unmistakable certainty.

Finally when he's sure she's ready he slowly, deliberately pushes inside her. When she gasps he pauses, taking her hand, intertwining their fingers. She reaches up and kisses him; conferring her want, her need for him, before he finally pushes the rest of his length inside.

He continues to touch her, kiss her lips, her neck, surrounding her nipples with the heat of his mouth; all the while filling her with each thrust.

His continued contact, his unwavering devotion to her pleasure and fulfilling her desire, intensifies each touch, each caress. She grabs at him, grabs the sheets; feeling the same unaccustomed sensations start to build again. This time he can feel it too and he tightens his grip on her, drives further in, wanting his closeness to assure her while he experiences the orgasm alongside her.

When he feels her tighten he feels his own desire build. He continues to move, but when she comes, her hands clutching him, her breathe whispering his name, he is lost.

His continued movement infinitely extends the intensity of the experience for her, and when she feels him move within her, his own desire finally appeased she enjoys the feeling as much as her own.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello, thanks for all the comments, follows and favs - Cant believe how well people have responded, especially to the last few chapter. This is the last chapter of my story although I do have a little epilogue coming. **

**Thanks again to everyone xx**

In the coming weeks Red shields her from her colleagues, always accompanying her, ready with some quick witted answer or distraction. She thinks, or at least she hopes, that his constant vigilance has been enough to dissuade Meera from further probing. Some evenings they discuss what the future holds knowing that in their situation it's when, not if, the change will come.

Finally they feel comfortable enough to let her visit the Blacksite alone, not for extended periods but initially for an hour or two. When things continue as normal she lets down her guard slightly. Red is not so sure so she promises to share with him any concerns. Nothing occurs, not for weeks.

This is why Elizabeth is surprised when she enters the meeting room one day, finding AD Cooper, Ressler and Meera waiting. She feels the atmosphere alter as she enters, and finds herself wondering why it feels like more of an interrogation than a briefing.

Red is off site, they've waited to catch her on her own. Unknown to them he's planning on coming in later and she hopes she won't have to wait long before back up arrives.

"Take a seat" Ressler says, not looking at her or using her name.

"What's this about?" She asks hesitantly, knowing instinctively that the briefing was little more than a ruse to draw her in.

"We need to speak to you about Reddington. We're concerned that you've been compromised" Cooper says, the three of them examining her for any tell.

"Compromised? In what way? I have not for one moment neglected my duties; I have continued to work with Reddington as directed by you. I have shared all intel with the team and we have successfully apprehended and detained a number of Blacklisters since Red's return. I don't want to overstate my contribution but you can both attest to the facts that I have shielded my colleagues from danger when required." She says looking at Donald and Meera as she finishes. She's laying out the evidence, knowing that it should be enough but that it won't be.

They sit silently, obviously not having expected her to mount such a vigorous defence.

Then Meera pipes up, "Liz, we're not questioning your contribution, but we have some concerns about the nature of your relationship with this highly dangerous and valuable FBI asset".

Elizabeth can't help the look of distaste that appears on her face, she knows how they regard him, but in using those terms with her they are obviously hoping to provoke a response. She remains quiet, thinking what best to say next.

"And have you discussed your concerns with the highly dangerous but valuable FBI asset?" She says her voice thick with contempt.

"Cut the crap Keen... Or Scott ... Or Reddington or whatever name you're using now" Ressler says, his tone abrasive, flustered and hard.

"Agent Ressler" Cooper says in warning. "Let's keep this professional, shall we?"

"I don't have to listen to this. If you wish to discuss this further then I suggest you set up a meeting, involving all parties, instead of trying to ambush me" she says standing and leaving the room.

Cooper and Meera watch her go but Ressler's not ready to back down, he's been waiting for this confrontation from the moment Red handed himself in and asked for her.

She walks the corridor to her office, her heart pounding, her ears ringing. She knows the accusations are true but she's enraged about their approach, the derogatory implications to her as an Agent.

Ressler follows her into the office, he invades her space. She can see a vein throb in his temple. She knows he's angered beyond anything she's ever seen but she means to hold her own against him.

"You heard me back there. I won't be ambushed, not by you, not by the FBI" she almost shouts, pointing at him, and then pointing out towards the control room.

"You're not denying it!" He rages.

"We're done here. Get out!" This time she doesn't hold back, shouting the last words.

"Are we done? I don't think so. I don't remember getting the inter department memo directing us to whore ourselves out in order to facilitate the apprehension of wanted criminals" Donald says, his words coming fast, his voice angry.

"Donald" Red says in warning from the door; his tone dark but his voice even; those features combining to produce a threat more unnerving than any shout or scream.

She hadn't realised he was standing there, her view blocked by Donald's imposing frame, which he'd brought close in order to intimidate. He doesn't turn to look at Red but he backs marginally away.

"Adjust your tone" Red says casually moving inside her office.

Donald almost snorts, stepping further away and turning to face Red as he advances into the room.

"And should you have anything unpleasant you wish to say at anytime in the future, I suggest that you first direct your remarks to me". Red continues, his eyes now appraising her. If he wasn't speaking to him it would almost be as if Ressler wasn't even in the room.

The threat is in his tone, in the cadence of his voice, in his choice of words, it is so apparent that he doesn't have to look. Donald may be armed but it's obvious where the danger lurks in her small office.

Lizzie looks at Red, and he gives her a small conciliatory smile. He knows she's offended by Donald's words, almost as much as he is. He tells her with his eyes and expression everything needed to refute Donald's accusations.

He lifts his hand to cup her face, a gesture he often does when they're alone, he is unconcerned about the witness to their intimacy.

"Jesus" Donald exclaims, outraged at Red's boldness despite his presence.

"Lizzie" Red continues unperturbed, looking deeply into her eyes. "Let's call it a day, shall we?"

He thinks about Donald's words, their implications and ferocity. He recognises the catalytic property they possess, even if Donald himself is too ignorant to grasp it. Things have been said aloud, not just to them but about them, things that cannot be unsaid, things that tilt the axis of their world.

He steps aside and follows her as she exits. Donald watches them, his outrage manifesting in the bustling movements and disjointed words that follow them from the room.

By the time they near the elevator he has his hand on the small of her back, by the time they reach ground level he has taken her hand. In the car he wraps his arms around her. In that embrace, in the silence, they acknowledge the change that has arrived; it is irrefutable and immense but not feared by either of them.

Like the turn of the tide or the change of the wind they find themselves in the lull, in the eye of the storm. The greatest danger lies in what's just passed and in what's immediately ahead but still they do not shrink from it, nor do they cower in fear. Instead they move, meeting it head on and greeting it like an old friend.

They go to her house and as she gathers her essentials he prepares a meal, like he has done each evening since that first night when they silently accepted their mutual desire to be together.

After the meal they sit quietly, enjoying the wine and each other's company.

"Do you have all that you need Lizzie?" he asks.

"I think so" she says. "It's hard to know what to take and what to leave".

"Bring anything you wish to see again. We won't be back." he replies tenderly.

"I'm just going to get my bag and have a last look" she says standing from her seat. He stands at the same time, moving to clear the glasses.

"Leave the bag; I'll get it before we go. Take your time" he says before kissing her lightly on her cheek.

She mounts the stairs in the home she's willingly leaving for the man that she loves. It strikes her that she's not just leaving her home but leaving her life too. Then she reasons that the time without him was not much of anything so it is a sacrifice worth making.

Quietly she walks the rooms upstairs, memories surfacing for her spontaneously. It doesn't occur to her until she settles on the edge of the bed that those memories all feature Red. She sits, waits, before moving to meet the future.

She descends the stairs and re-enters the kitchen finding him settled at the head of the table. She expects to find the table empty but instead she sees champagne flutes, filled already from a bottle she supposes he's had chilling.

"What's all this?" She asks him.

"I thought we might like to toast the past, the future" he says offering her a glass.

She takes it and moves to sit at the seat nearest his. When she looks up she sees a small box between them, she didn't see his hand move but she knows it wasn't there when she entered the room.

Her eyes snap up to meet his; he has a modest but genuine smile on his face.

"Red?" She says. Her tone questioning but she smiles too, her breath exhaling in a shudder.

He leans in across the corner of the table, kisses her softly, and then says, "I bought this five days after I left. I carried it with me every moment; everywhere I went, every country I visited, every city I stayed in. It was there with me in every room, reminding me of you. Truthfully I didn't know if you would ever accept it but I needed the promise of it. It kept me going, you kept me going".

Tears well in her eyes, she just looks at him knowing the certainty of his love, "what are you asking me?" She says finally.

"Lizzie you know what I'm asking, and I will happily say the words if that's what you wish." he says softly, looking into her eyes.

"I don't need that." She says with a smile but then in a tide of emotion she covers her mouth with her hand attempting to suppress the sobs that threaten to overtake her. He reaches over the corner of the table to hold her, pulling her up to stand and into his embrace.

"Lizzie, I love you. Things will change in our lives, things might become unrecognisable in the coming weeks but you will always be able to rely on that fact; on me. I promise you that modest consistency in the face of what might be turmoil and uncertainty" He tells her as she calms and begins to reign in her emotions.

"Thank you" she responds still enveloped in his embrace. He then moves back and leans down to lift the box, which as yet she hasn't seen inside. He opens the box, removes the ring and places it back on the table. Carefully he lifts her hand and places the ring on her finger.

She looks down to see a large emerald cut diamond, in a vintage platinum Art Deco setting. On the shoulder sit smaller princess cut diamonds, nested together framing perfectly the main stone. It is stunning, but given his exquisite taste she never had a moment of doubt.

They stay for a while longer, celebrating with the champagne. She'll remember this night: how happy they were. She'll remember the pleasure she took in seeing him laughing at something she's said, his joy filling the atmosphere and lingering there.

He listens to her while she talks, thanking whatever merciful power that brought her into his life. He knows he'll never tire of her company, knows he'll always bask in the glow of the happiness that consumes him now.

As they finally take their leave, when he's most worried that she'll hesitate, she turns to and says the word she didn't manage, couldn't manage earlier, "yes" she smiles, "always yes". He knew it in his heart, not needing the words to reinforce his knowledge but when she says it he feels whole.

Then together they step out of her front door and for all intents and purposes off the face of the earth.


	12. Chapter 12 - Short Epilogue

This is my very short epilogue. I wrote most of it before I wrote the end of the story... Using it to explain my thoughts.

I've started working on something else but it's even darker than this story when it started and more AU. It's causing me a few probs but I've tried to iron them out and thinking of posting soon xxxxx

Thank you once again to everyone who took the time to read, review, follow or favourite my story; I can't tell you how much it means to me.

Epilogue

When you've lived a life of anger, violence and crime. When you've enjoyed culture, art and wealth. When you've heard the truth and learned that sometimes it holds little value. When you've met someone who should be your enemy but you start to rely on them. When you've lived a fabricated existence and found that the one person you can trust is the person who people call a traitor. Then you can understand how two people, seemingly on different paths can meet and see those paths unintentionally but irrevocably converge.

Imagine one day you're walking on a beach on the west coast of Scotland; the wind blowing soft soundless waves upon the white sands. You notice a couple as consumed with each other as they are by the raw beauty of their environment.

Or walking the corridors of the Uffizi, surrounded by art that speaks of the skill and passion of the past. You notice two people, standing side by side admiring the work of an old master; their intimate stance speaking of how closely they are connected.

Or you're touring a vineyard on Waiheke Island in New Zealand. In the distance you see two figures strolling through the vines, deep in conversation, deep in thought. You imagine a story about them, one which you'd tell small children like a fairy tale, the story of a love that only exists for most of us in myths and fables.

For them it exists in isolation from their past, in isolation from the people they knew and the lives that they lived. Yet they live in the constant warmth and certainty of it, so content they feel no loss.


End file.
